The Tainted Sword

Chapter XVI

Flinn nodded to the castellan and grabbed the man’s wrist in a final greeting. “Thank you, Sir Graybow, for the provisions, and for your help in regaining my honor.”

The old castellan nodded and smiled. “You’d better be off before dawn breaks. The courtyard’s full of well-wishers who’ll be waking up any moment.”

Flinn turned to Jo, Braddoc, Dayin, and Karleah, who were leading their various steeds out from one of the castle’s minor stables. “Are your mounts prepared?” Flinn asked. They nodded, white breath whirling from their mouths in the predawn air. The lack of morning light lent a sinister feeling to the early departure, but Flinn knew secrecy was necessary. He and his friends had to leave the Castle of the Three Suns without being seen—and without being attacked by Teryl Auroch or Sir Brisbois if either were still around. Karleah Kunzay thought the two men had been consumed by the magicks, but Flinn wasn’t as easily convinced.

“You’re sure no one saw sign of them?” Flinn asked the castellan once more. “I’d rather hunt their master, but if Brisbois and Auroch are still here…”

The older man sighed and said patiently, “No sign, Sir Flinn. None of my guards saw either the knight or the mage. If they are gone, good riddance, I say.” He touched Flinn’s arm briefly. “I’m in charge of the baroness’ safety, Sir Flinn. Tell me truly: have I anything to fear from Teryl Auroch? Or from Sir Brisbois?”

Flinn grunted. “Karleah Kunzay insists Auroch’s magic was weak—that the illusion came from Verdilith through the bird. But, if the mage is still around, he could be anywhere—and he could be dangerous.”

“And Brisbois?” the castellan asked.

Flinn shrugged. “I think he has enough sense not to come back to the castle. From him you won’t have anything to worry about, but Auroch… perhaps yes. Take care, Sir Graybow.”

The older knight gripped Flinn’s wrist again. “I wish you good hunting, my friend. Hurry back, and we’ll teach that squire of yours a few tricks.” He smiled at Jo, then stepped back and waved as Flinn and the others mounted.

“May Thor and his warrior’s honor remain with you always, Sir Graybow,” Flinn said formally, then touched his heels to Ariac’s flanks. The griffon responded immediately and entered the long, winding tunnel that led to one of the minor exits from the castle. Graybow had taken the precaution of dousing nearly all the lights along the route Flinn would take to leave the castle, but the knight trusted his mount’s night vision. Ariac moved forward unerringly, his peculiar-sounding stride marking time. The soft thump from the pads gripped by his front claws alternated with the harder thud of his hind lion’s feet.

Just as the sun was beginning to rise, Flinn’s party exited the tunnel onto the long sloping approach leading from the castle. Flinn pulled Ariac to a halt, the dawning light just touching his face. He turned and gestured for Jo to join him, and she moved Carsig to his side.

“Look, Jo,” he breathed, joy in his voice, as he pointed to the hills to the east. “There is the reason why we are here, why this castle was built, and why we are tied to this land. Look!”

Jo’s gray eyes turned to where Flinn pointed. A moment later exaltation lit her face. She gave Flinn one shy, beatific smile, then turned back to the view.

There, between the two hills known as the Craven Sisters, rose the sun. It was cloven in three. Great, crescent wedges of brilliant red shimmered upward through the hills, and in another moment the disks would join and become one.

Flinn sighed with bittersweet joy. “It is said that as long as the three suns rise and become one, then the lands of Penhaligon will stand. If the three suns fail, so too will Penhaligon,” Flinn said softly. The three segments burst across the horizon and melded into one glowing orb.

It was the dawn of a new day, but they couldn’t linger to admire the sunrise. The time for hard riding had come. The morning shone cold and clear, without a hint of snow—perfect weather for a winter hunt. Flinn gave the signal and Ariac leaped forward.

Braddoc stomped into camp and fell to the ground beside Dayin. Jo, equally dejected, followed the dwarf at a slower pace. She sat down next to Karleah on a fallen log that lay at the center of their camp. Jo moaned a little as her sore muscles hit the hard wood, and she grabbed a nearby fur to provide extra padding. She stretched her long, cold legs toward the fire.

“I’m disgusted with us!” Braddoc was ranting. “Eight days in the wilderness and not so much as a dragon’s whisker!” The dwarf’s face was turning as red as his beard. “Why, if I had my band of mercenaries, we’d have found Verdilith by now!”

“Wasn’t Flinn your tracker?” Jo asked, rubbing one knee and grunting. “Your sell-swords wouldn’t be helping us any, Braddoc, and you know it. Besides, mercenaries are too cowardly to track dragons.” Tensions were running high in the camp. Jo and Braddoc snapped at each other almost constantly, the cantankerous Karleah pounced on anyone with no provocation, and even the shy Dayin had learned how to retort. Only Flinn has remained calm and collected, a far cry from the man I once knew, Jo thought. How can he be so… so stoic? For five days we’ve been in these hills, searching for more evidence of the dragon’s passage. I’m beginning to think Flinn must have been mistaken about seeing signs of the dragon.

For three days after leaving the castle, the knight had kept the five of them on the move until Flinn spotted evidence of the dragon’s passage. He instructed the others to set up camp in a sheltered location. Flinn said that from here they could make forays into the surrounding Wulfholdes. For the last five days, Flinn had sent Jo and Braddoc off into the hills together with strict instructions to return to camp the moment they found anything. Sometimes Flinn sent Dayin with them, and once Flinn took the boy with him. Most often, however, the knight left at sunrise to roam the hills alone in search of Verdilith and then returned at sunset. He was always as exhausted and hungry as the rest of them, but his spirit had never wavered. Jo admired his resolve; despite the grueling, tedious work, Flinn’s spirit was thriving. He was a knight of the Order of the Three Suns, doing his duty to avenge the villagers’ deaths and prevent further destruction at the dragon’s hand. Jo, too, felt proud of her work, but the daily grind was beginning to wear on her. Braddoc, in particular, tested her nerves. But she wouldn’t give in, not while she was a squire in the Order of the Three Suns.

Jo gratefully accepted the plate of stew and bread Karleah handed her. She ate a quick mouthful, then nudged the dwarf with the tip of her cold, dirty boot. “Mercenaries don’t ever hunt dragons, Braddoc, so how can you say you wish we had any here? If we were after treasure, that would be one thing, but—”

“Oh, cut it out, Johauna!” the dwarf said irritably. “It was only a suggestion, that’s all. Thank you,” he said to Karleah when she handed him a plate, who mumbled her response. Braddoc turned back to Jo. “I don’t understand why Flinn has us combing these hills. We’ve been over them five times now, and there’s nothing out there!”

“Flinn thinks there is,” Jo said before she bit into her bread. She caught Dayin’s eye and ruffled his hair. The boy smiled back, his eyes bright. Jo swore he had grown during the last week, though that seemed unlikely with Karleah’s uninspired cooking.

“Have you seen any sign of the dragon? Have I?” Braddoc asked, affronted. “Where does Flinn go? What does he hope to find? Why aren’t we searching a different part of the Wulfholdes?”

“ You have questions, Braddoc?” a voice interrupted from the dark just beyond the light of the campfire. Flinn came into view, then sank onto the log beside Jo. He smiled at her and accepted a plate from Karleah.

“Humph, does he have questions!” Karleah snorted. “Nothing but!” The old woman laid a horse blanket on the packed snow and sat next to Dayin and Braddoc.

“Did you see anything today, Flinn?” Jo asked, her good humor restored as always when Flinn joined the group. “Braddoc and I searched the entire northern quarter again like you asked, but saw nothing. We don’t understand—”

“Just what it is we’re supposed to find, Flinn!” Braddoc threw out his hands. “I know I used to be a mercenary and that I used to rough it now and then, but this is ridiculous! It’s been eight days, and we’ve seen no sign of the dragon or sign of civilization! When I was a mercenary, at least there were towns—”

Flinn held up his hand and broke into the dwarf’s tirade. “I know, Braddoc, I know. Believe me, we could all use a rest, a soft bed, and—for some of us—a decent shave.” Flinn rubbed his hairy chin and laughed ruefully. “But we’ve supplies enough to last another week, and I’m going to stay out here at least that long.” The knight shook his head. “As always, you’re welcome to go back. I won’t begrudge you your right to a bath.”

Braddoc rumbled beneath his breath and then shook his head. “Nay, Flinn, I won’t do that. I’m in this with you, all the way.”

Flinn quickly bit into his food before it grew cold and then gestured with his bread toward Jo and Braddoc. “Like you, I found nothing. I can’t tell you why, but I’m convinced Verdilith is around here somewhere. I can feel his presence, as if the wyrm were watching us.”

“Through the crystals?” Jo asked.

“Does that matter?” Karleah interrupted. “If Verdilith is here, he knows we are, too. So, use a crystal to locate the dragon’s lair. You don’t need to hide from him anymore. Find his lair and then catch him there.” The others turned to stare at her and the old woman cackled. “Good idea, yes? Knew there was some reason I came along.”

“Why didn’t you suggest that days ago, old woman?”

Braddoc snapped.

“Keep a civil tongue, dwarf, or you won’t want to bathe!” The wizardess glowered. “I reveal my own counsel at my own time.” Karleah looked suddenly chagrined and added, “Besides, I only now thought of it.”

“Jo?” Flinn asked, looking at his squire.

Jo returned his look, flattered at his attention. He’d been asking her opinion lately as a way of instructing her. He always applauded her when her suggestions were sound, and he gently pointed out errors when her judgment was not. So now she asked herself the questions the knight had taught her: What would viewing through a crystal accomplish? Would it gain more good than harm? Would it harm others? Yes, Jo thought, but the dragon was certain to do harm regardless of the action they took.

The squire nodded her head and said, “Yes, I think we should do it. We have nothing much to lose, and quite a lot to gain.”

Flinn nodded and turned to the wizardess. “An abelaat stone, then, Karleah?” At her nod, he pulled one from his pouch and handed it to her. “You do the honors, Karleah. We’ll concentrate on Verdilith’s lair to focus the stone.”

Karleah’s skinny arms emerged from her shapeless robe, one hand holding a tiny brass brazier. She took an ember from the fire and put it in the brazier, then added the abelaat crystal. Finally, she sprinkled on crushed quartz and muttered something under her breath. She gestured for everyone to gather round the brazier, her bony fingers seeming to be twice as long as everyone else’s.

“Concentrate on the location, not the lair itself,” Karleah said. “You’ve already seen the inside of the lair, so think about the outside instead. Remember: silence. We don’t want the dragon to know where we are.”

Jo and the others leaned closer. She tried to concentrate on what Karleah asked for, though her weary mind wandered. Then, as before, an image slowly appeared, enlarged by Karleah’s magicks. Jo held her breath and leaned closer to the tiny brazier.

A rounded slope came into view, and behind it the interminable and rocky Wulfholdes. A single stunted pine stood to the left. The scene was virtually identical to every hill Jo had seen during the last five days.

“Is that it?” she whispered, before she could stop herself. The crystal shattered. She looked from Flinn to Karleah and shook her head. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t worry about it, Jo,” Flinn said and touched her arm. “We all saw enough.”

“Enough to know that finding that particular hill is nigh impossible!” Braddoc snapped. He turned irately on the wizardess. “Wonderful idea! Are you sure you had the right place?”

Dayin threw his arms around Karleah. “Turn him into a butterfly and let him freeze here in the cold!” he yelled. The boy flashed an angry look at Braddoc; the dwarf shrugged and turned away.

“Enough,” said Flinn, nearly shouting. The knight’s smile was testy. “I’m convinced the vision was a true one. Now, has anyone seen that hill? It has a rounded curve to it, fairly unusual for the Wulfholdes, and there’s a stunted pine to the side. Anyone seen it?”

“Are you kidding, Flinn?” Braddoc bellowed. The dwarf jumped to his feet. “We’ve been up and down so many rounded hills with stunted pines the last five days I’d be surprised if we hadn’t seen it!” He crossed his arms and sunk his chin into his beard.

“I’m afraid Braddoc’s right, Flinn,” Jo added more calmly.

“We’ve seen so many hills that I certainly don’t recall seeing that one in particular. But at least we know what it looks like when we go out tomorrow.” She pointed to Dayin and Flinn. “What of you? Have either of you seen the hill?”

Dayin simply shook his head, but Flinn lowered his head and picked at a loose tuft of leather on his boot’s heel before replying. Is he gritting his teeth? Jo wondered as the knight’s cheek muscle rippled. “I may have seen the hill,” he said, still not looking at Johauna, “but like you I don’t remember it.” Flinn stood suddenly and looked at the people around the campfire. “I think it’s time to sleep. We’ve a long day again tomorrow. I’ll take watch first. Jo, I’ll wake you about midnight.” Before Jo could question him, he had turned and left the camp.

“Well, that’s a fine how-do-you-do!” Braddoc sputtered in the silence that followed. He shook his head and turned to Dayin. “Come along, son. Let’s leave the womenfolk to their duties.” He stood and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Karleah?” Whether Dayin was asking permission to leave or to stay and help, Jo didn’t know.

Karleah patted Dayin’s head with her bony hand and said, “You run along, boy. I’ll take care of things here. I want to talk to Johauna, anyway.” Dayin nodded and then went off to the tent he shared with Braddoc and Flinn. Jo and Karleah had the smaller tent to themselves.

Jo began gathering the dishes together. “You want to talk about something?” she asked casually.

The wizardess put out her old hand and touched Johauna’s young one. Her tiny dark eyes regarded Jo even more intently than usual, and the squire felt a little chill run down her spine. Her initial impression of crazy old Karleah Kunzay returned—the impression that she might be dangerous. Still, Jo trusted the old woman, despite her odd ways. “I want to tell you that the moon is full, and that I’m going to spend the night meeting with an old friend,” Karleah said.

“Old friend?” Jo asked, confused.

As if on cue, the loan, mournful sound of a wolf howl rose up in the distant forest. Karleah nodded and said dreamily, “That’s him. It’s been a long time. Don’t be afraid, dear. I won’t hurt you.” Jo watched in shocked fascination as dark, bristly fur began sprouting from the wizardess’ face and hands. “One more thing,” Karleah said huskily, her voice deepening. “Tonight might be the night for… truth.” She jerked her head toward the direction Flinn had taken. “He needs you, girl.” The last words were contorted almost beyond human speech as Karleah’s head lengthened into a wolfs muzzle. Her reshaping hands fastened on the gray robes she wore and pulled them off.

Jo nodded slowly at the old woman, her eyes held fast by Karleah’s transformation. Jo felt no fear, only an unexpected sense of wonder as a huge, hairy gray wolf slowly emerged before her. The creature sniffed Jo’s outstretched hand, gazing steadily at the young woman. Then the animal bounded silently into the snow-covered hills. Jo sighed, wishing she could transform herself into a wolf and roam the countryside on such a cold, beautiful night.

Without a word, the squire stood and began walking toward the animals. Jo and Braddoc had staked the horse, mule, and ponies to one side of the camp, with Ariac a little farther away. Flinn always started his watches by checking on the animals, and Jo was sure she would find him there. Beyond the light of the campfire, moonlight guided Jo’s steps. She spotted Flinn standing next to the horse Carsig.

“Hello,” Jo said simply, stepping up beside the knight. Flinn released the horse’s hoof he’d been holding and straightened. “Anything wrong with Carsig?” Jo asked.

Flinn shook his head. “No, just checking.” In the moonlight his wry grimace was eerie. “You know me, check and double-check.”

“It’s the only way to be prepared,” Jo responded. “You taught me that.” She smiled up at the tall knight. Then, slowly, Jo reached out and took his hand in hers. She covered his larger hand with her two smaller ones. Again she smiled up at him.

Flinn brought her hands to his lips and kissed each, once. “Maybe it is time to talk, Jo. Maybe tonight is the night, and saving this for another time isn’t right.”

“Braddoc and Dayin are in their tent,” Jo said, “and Karleah’s gone off for the evening. The fire’s still going. Shall we talk there?”

Flinn nodded, then put his arm about her shoulders as they walked back to the fire in silence. Once there, the knight retrieved a fur from Jo’s tent and wrapped it around them as they sat on the log. Overhead, the white moon and a thousand stars shone. This is a moment I am going to remember forever, Jo thought suddenly. The squire added another branch to the fire, then looked at Flinn.

“I’m guessing you have a lot of things to say, Flinn,” Johauna said softly, her voice trembling.

Flinn took her hand and stroked it for several long moments, staring at its paleness. Then he began haltingly, “All my life I have struggled to uphold the ideals of truth and goodness, of honor and integrity.” He paused to look at Jo, his expression intent. “All my life I have believed in the sanctity of rightness.” The words stumbled from his lips, as if they were long unfamiliar to him. Jo guessed he had seldom put voice to the ideals he held dear. Flinn did so now, and as he spoke, conviction grew in his voice.

“I told myself I had always led a life that was true to my principles—even when I lived as a mercenary. I even told myself that although I had fallen in the eyes of my wife and fellow knights, I still remained true to my ideals.” Flinn paused and gripped Jo’s hand more firmly. His voice was low and firm when he continued. “For a while, at least, I was wrong. You see, I lied to myself. The old ideals were simply that: old ideals—not something needed by me. I never thought of them, and I certainly didn’t follow them. That was a wrong I committed, and I have righted that one. But… there is another wrong I have made that I have yet to right.” Flinn released her hand and put his face in his hands.

Jo touched the crook of his arm and leaned against him. “Go on,” she whispered.

“Oh, Jo,” Flinn cried suddenly and pulled her into his arms. “Don’t you see? I hid my heart from you. That was the second wrong I committed.” For long moments Flinn was silent, and Jo could hear the pounding of his heart beneath the heavy clothing he wore. “You scared me, Jo. You awoke all those old impulses of goodness and nobility—impulses that showed what a lie I had been living the last seven years. You tore through my life like a summer storm through a forest. You invaded my thoughts and challenged my very existence, the very meaning of my life.

“Jo, I lived a life of mindless rote, and I was happy. At least I thought I was happy. I tended my trap lines, I skinned my pelts, I brought them to town twice a year. I was content; I was safe from prying eyes, and I was safe from emotions. But you showed me there was still goodness within me if I would only acknowledge it, if I would only let myself hope. With you I could no longer be the man I had become. With you I was forced to see that my flame of honor still burned. You showed me I was still a good man.” Flinn stopped again and swallowed hard, then continued.

“Jo, you also made me see how far I had fallen from the ideals and beliefs of a knight of Penhaligon.” Flinn stopped again abruptly, and Jo caught the sheen of tears in his eyes. He said huskily, “You will never know how much your image of me meant to me. I cursed you for that image—and sometimes I still do.” Flinn turned his head away, and Jo felt as though someone had stolen her breath.

“Oh, Flinn,” the words escaped her lips. Her voice caught short as she spoke his name.

Flinn wiped the tears from his eyes and looked at the young woman. “You see, I care for you, Johauna Menhir, and deeply. But I shouldn’t and I can’t because of what I am to you: a hero.”

“Oh, Flinn,” Jo repeated softly. “Don’t you understand? I didn’t just worship you. I loved you, too. And I still do.” The knight’s lips moved, but he said nothing. Jo did the only thing she could. She took his face in her hands and kissed him. “I love you,” she said slowly, “but don’t ask me to stop worshiping you, for that came first and will always be there.”

Closing his eyes, Flinn took her in his arms.

Fain Flinn awoke at midnight inside Jo’s tent, his eyes opening and his senses instantly alert. He was supposed to be out on watch, and by rights Jo should be taking over. But this was the night for him to leave, and he wouldn’t awaken Jo. Carefully he rolled onto his side, glad that sometime in the night she had moved from his arms.

The moon lit up Jo’s outline quite well under the tarpaulin. She was sleeping on her side, her back to him, huddled beneath the furs. He wanted to reach out and touch the silken hair that had come unbound earlier in their passion, but he knew he didn’t dare. If he did, he might never leave.

Flinn sighed. Oh, Jo, he thought, I do love you. I wish I could give you more than this one night of love, but I can’t. You have put me on the path to honor and integrity. It’s time I fulfill my destiny. I know where Verdilith is now, and if I don’t go and kill him soon, he will attack us—and you will die, my love. So far the dragon’s held off because he’s afraid of attacking all five of us. But now, now the time has come for me to leave you. I only hope that Karleah is wrong in her prophecy.

Cautiously Flinn slipped from beneath the covers and out of the shelter. Jo was sleeping soundly, and only once did she stir as he left the warmth of their bed.

Outside, Flinn’s eyes adjusted quickly. After the darkness in the tent, the moon seemed as bright as daylight. He located the hobbled mounts and then made a hissing noise to warn Ariac not to squeal his usual high-pitched greeting. Fortunately the other mounts were familiar enough with him that they didn’t whinny or bray.

Flinn loosely laid Ariac’s blanket and saddle across the bird-lion’s back. He strung Wyrmblight across the pommel. Then he picked up the bridle, which he carried separately, using his fingers to dampen the metal bit and chin strap. He would saddle the griffon only after he had put some distance between him and the camp.

After a suitable interval, Flinn halted Ariac to put on the griffon’s tackle; some of the knight’s muscles stretched a little too far and he flinched. His body bore testament to the fury of Verdilith’s first attack, and the scars across his chest sometimes troubled him. Ignoring the pain, he tightened the saddle’s girth strap and mounted up. Flinn had quite a distance to travel before he could meet up with Verdilith, and the knight was glad for the full moon and clear, windless sky. He would make good time.

The knight smiled grimly, the scar across his cheek tightening as had the others. It is fitting, he thought, that Verdilith returned to this region. He dismissed the vision of the dragon’s lair. He had no doubts that Verdilith was waiting for him in the glade where they first fought. With Wyrmblight I will face the dragon, Flinn thought, and we shall have our last battle. What was begun there shall end there. The knight ground his teeth, then deliberately stopped himself. “Only this time there will be a victor,” he said aloud.

Flinn dug his heels into Ariac’s flanks, and the griffon leaped forward. The bird-lion snapped at his bit, eager to be moving. Flinn headed north, choosing as easy and straight a trail as possible through the rocky Wulfholdes. Although he had slept little, Flinn was tensed and keyed for the fight to come.

Wyrmblight hung by his side, shiny and warm. Since the day the people’s faith in him had returned, the heat had not left the sword. It’s funny, Flinn mused, how when I first wielded Wyrmblight, the hilt grew warm so gradually that I never noticed it. After my fall, the sword grew cold, and I never noticed that change either. Now, however, Flinn was aware of the slightest fluctuation of warmth every time he touched Wyrmblight. The man smiled. The blade had only grown warmer with each passing day. It was a wonderful advantage in winter.

Flinn urged Ariac into a faster trot. The griffon responded admirably and soon settled into a ground-eating pace. Dawn found the knight and Ariac entering a small, dark forest in a secluded portion of the Wulfholdes. Flinn pulled the griffon to a halt and looked around, noting nothing suspicious in sight. These are the woods, he thought, the scene of what I hope will be Verdilith’s death. He dismounted and pulled free a bundle tied to Ariac’s saddle. Opening the wrapping, the knight began putting on the armor Sir Graybow had given him at the castle. The familiar weight of a breastplate settled on his shoulders. Flinn struggled to attach the remaining pieces of armor; he found himself wishing for his squire since many of the buckles and straps were in places difficult for him to reach. The frigid winter air stiffened his fingers. It took him twice as long to dress as it should have, but finally he was finished. Flinn pulled out the midnight-blue tunic of the Order of the Three Suns. Reverently he touched the silken threads entwined with the gold. He drew the shirt over his head.

Flinn tried to mount the griffon, but failed. “I’ve forgotten how to mount up in full armor,” he muttered to Ariac. The bird-lion squealed. After several clumsy attempts, the knight finally settled into the saddle. He urged Ariac forward in a slow walk through the deep snow. The conifers were as thick as he remembered them so many years ago, and he almost expected to hear two squires chatter away behind him. The dark forest closed about him.

Flinn continued deeper into the woods until, at last, he saw sunlight streaming into the forest ahead of him. He moved forward cautiously until he was at the edge of a small glade. He dismounted. The glade where he had first fought Verdilith fifteen years ago stretched before him. And there lay Verdilith himself, sunning the rippling expanse of emerald green skin.

The dragon had grown, Flinn noted. He was larger than Flinn remembered, and he took up nearly a fourth of the small glade. His green scales glistened in the sun, and the bright copper plates protecting his chest and neck also gleamed. His claws, of burnished ivory, looked recently sharpened. Scattered about the dragon’s body were rods, staves, and other probably magical devices. Some lay half buried in the snow. Flinn braced himself mentally and thought, I will not turn around. Not now. The knight loosely tied Ariac to a branch and then stepped through the treeline and into the open. The dragon turned his massive head and opened his jaws in something resembling a smile. Flinn could see row after row of sharp, pointed spikes.

“It is about time, old nemesis,” Verdilith rumbled loudly, then laughed. “I wait fifteen years, and you make me wait eight days more while you stumble about the hills.”

Flinn advanced slowly, his sword held cautiously before him. “It makes no difference how long the wait, Verdilith,” Flinn said strongly. “I am here, and today is the day you die.”

“Let us speak about that, Sir Flinn,” the dragon smiled toothily, and suddenly Flinn was reminded of Lord Maldrake. “You and I both know the prophecy the crazy woman Kunzay has foretold.”

“Yes,” answered Flinn briskly. “The prophecy says I will win.”

The dragon wasn’t disconcerted. “Perhaps that is what she told you. I heard a different prophecy.” Verdilith lowered his head to Flinn’s eye level. “Whoever wins doesn’t matter. What does matter is that one of us might die—and neither of us knows which. And so, I propose that we part company here and now, and that we never seek one another again. That way the old woman’s prophecy need never come to pass.”

Flinn took another step forward and shook his head. “No, Verdilith, I cannot. You destroyed my marriage and my name seven years ago. You slaughtered the town of Bywater, and you murdered my former wife at the council. For these and all your other atrocities, you must die.” The knight took yet another step toward the dragon.

The dragon sighed, a strange wheezing noise that sounded more like a cough. He picked up one of the rods in the snow, licked it appreciatively, and then said, “As you wish, Flinn. But I warn you: I’ve tired of baiting you, so your end is at hand. Your death will be over so quickly as to be ludicrous. Ready yourself; you’re about to die!” He aimed the rod at Flinn, who steeled himself and prepared to dodge the coming assault. One hand touched a furry tail dangling from his waist. The dragon, in a most bored tone, spoke the command word necessary to activate the magic in the rod.

Nothing happened.

Flinn heard no noise, saw no flash, felt no different. He spared a quick glance at himself and Wyrmblight. He looked exactly as he had a moment earlier. The dragon stared at Flinn, then repeated the procedure. Again nothing happened; Verdilith picked up a staff lying at his feet. He pointed the staff directly at Flinn and forcefully spoke the command word.

Still nothing happened. A tendril of fear curled through the dragon’s golden eyes. Flinn wondered suddenly whether Karleah Kunzay’s prophecy were false. The knight, wondering if this was all a trap on the dragon’s part, nevertheless began to slowly advance toward Verdilith. “Is something wrong?” he taunted the dragon. “Your fancy gadgets not working today? A shame, indeed. Perhaps you’ll care to fight me the old tooth-and-nail, sword-and-hand way? That might prove best for both concerned….” Flinn grew bolder as each item Verdilith tried failed.

The dragon threw one more wand into the snow and gnashed his teeth. Suddenly he cocked his head and looked eastward. “The box,” Verdilith mumbled. “That accursed box.” The dragon’s eyes grew feral in the winter light. He raised one clawed appendage and murmured three words of an incantation. Flinn held Wyrmblight before him and tensed, one hand again on the blink dog’s tail at his waist. The ancient stream of words finished, clipped off by the dragon’s teeth. Silence. The dragon blinked, then smiled evilly. “You have me at a disadvantage, Sir Flinn, for I’ve been robbed of my magical powers—at least for now. However, it shall be as you wish—a duel of physical strength without aid of magicks. I shall win no matter what, Flinn the Fool.”

In answer, Flinn growled low and stroked the furry tail. He’d heard Jo use the blink dog’s tail often enough that he hoped he would get the tone and pitch right in one try. Suddenly, he blinked. Flinn stood a step away from the dragon’s right side; he swung Wyrmblight immediately. Using two hands, the blade came down in a shining arc and cut deeply into Verdilith’s side. The dragon’s scales would have prevented a lesser blow, but so sharp was the edge of Wyrmblight that the blade bit in by nearly a foot. Blood gushed from the wound.

The dragon shrieked in pain and anger. Flinn pushed the blade into the wound he had made and twisted, seeking a vital organ to rupture. From the corner of his eye, Flinn saw a giant, serpentine whip swing at him. The tail! He growled the command word and blinked away. For an instant he had the impression that the tail passed through him. Flinn reappeared in front of the dragon. He jumped forward, holding Wyrmblight like a lance, and stabbed the dragon’s chest. Deflected by the impenetrable copper scales, the sword bit into the trampled snow instead. Verdilith hissed, and a noxious cloud of chlorine gas enveloped Flinn. The knight only coughed a little and thanked Tarastia he had Wyrmblight to protect him.

Flinn swung his sword in a series of short, tightly controlled strokes, seeking a way past the dragon’s foreclaws. Verdilith raked back and tried to grab the blade from Flinn. But Wyrmblight’s edge was too sharp to grasp, and the dragon screamed in pain as the sword sliced into his sensitive palms. He reared back onto his haunches, rising to his full height, and then came back down, both foreclaws reaching for Flinn.

The knight didn’t flinch. Instead of retreating, he took a step closer and held Wyrmblight straight up as the claws came slashing down. Verdilith snagged his left claw on the sharp tip of Flinn’s sword, and the knight thrust upward, twisting as he did. Wyrmblight sliced through the dragon’s palm and into his forearm. Tendons snapped audibly.

Verdilith bellowed in pain. He clawed at Flinn with both front talons, despite the sword still thrust through one. Flinn fought to keep hold of Wyrmblight; the violent thrashing almost tore the sword from his hands. The moment Verdilith paused, Flinn twisted and yanked on the sword as he pulled it out. The knight smiled brutally at Verdilith’s ravaged claw.

The dragon screamed, and the sound buffeted the evergreens surrounding the glade. Verdilith raked Flinn again, and this time the claws caught hold of Flinn’s breastplate. The links holding the chest and back plates together snapped, and both pieces fell to the bloodied snow. The midnight-blue tunic floated to the ground. Flinn was virtually armorless above his waist. He pulled his sword up as a shield, thinking the dragon would attack with his claws again. Instead, Verdilith opened his mouth and snapped his jaws together suddenly. Flinn jumped back and reached for the blink dog’s tail, but Verdilith anticipated the knight’s move. With astounding speed, the dragon snapped his jaws a second time, and this time Flinn’s chest was caught between the pointed fangs. The growled command word emerged garbled and unintelligible. Flinn dropped the tail. The dragon lifted his head and shook his prey.

Flinn screamed. The ivory daggers lacing the behemoth’s jaws pierced Flinn’s undershirt and the arm cuffs he wore. Through a haze of pain, Flinn smelled the stench of chlorine and the dragon’s bile. The knight had a sudden vision of the animals he had hunted, writhing in his traps, and he knew exactly how they felt. Then the dragon ground his teeth together, and Flinn felt something inside him burst. A wave of blackness threatened to swallow him whole. “No!” he shouted. He fought for consciousness; he didn’t stand a chance if he blacked out now.

Below, something streaked into Flinn’s vision. A shrill squeal reached his ears. Ariac! He’d bit through his rein. The griffon attacked, his keen claws and beak scraping the gaping wound along the dragon’s right side. The bird-lion fluttered his stunted wings as his sharp beak buried deep in the ragged flesh. Suddenly Flinn felt the dragon’s jaws open. He fell heavily to the ground and lay in the snow, unable to move. His hand still curled around Wyrmblight, though how he’d managed to hold onto the sword he didn’t know.

Flinn lifted his head, and through glazed eyes he saw his griffon charge the dragon. It was a hopeless match from the start, made more so by Ariac’s inability to fly. The griffon screeched, his wicked beak piercing the dragon’s wounded side, but Verdilith caught Ariac between his good claw and his injured one. “I’ve killed your master, feeble creature, and it will be a pleasure to kill you!” Verdilith snarled. Gripping the bird-lion, he bit Ariac’s neck, tearing almost all of it away. The griffon gurgled one last scream and lay still. Flinn closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, somehow managing to stand. He stumbled toward Verdilith just as the dragon pitched Ariac’s broken body away from him.

Flinn lifted Wyrmblight above his head, his arms and chest protesting. His heart labored to pump blood, and he then felt one lung collapse. For a moment he couldn’t breathe. He gasped for air. “It is you who will die, Verdilith,” Flinn shouted hoarsely as the dragon turned back, “just as the prophecy foretold!” Flinn stepped forward suddenly and, with the last of his strength, brought Wyrmblight down upon the dragon. The blade bit deep into Verdilith’s left shoulder, almost to the hilt, and the dragon reared in pain and clawed the blade loose. Wyrmblight fell to the trampled snow. Verdilith shrieked again, and this time the sound of fear tainted the cry. The beast’s blood poured in steaming rivulets from his side, his shoulder, and his mangled claw. He backed away from the tottering man, then turned and crashed into the forest. The dragon’s leathery wings flapped as he ran, unable to lift the beast from the small clearing.

The knight feebly tried to wipe the blood from his eyes and then stumbled toward the shining silver blade lying in the red snow. Flinn paused by Ariac’s body—and fell to one knee. He stroked the silken feathers one last time in farewell. He tried to speak, but nothing emerged from the bruised lips except a bubble of blood. Flinn’s eyes clouded over, then turned toward his sword. By supreme effort, Flinn stood and haltingly limped over to the blade. Somehow he picked up Wyrmblight. Never had the sword felt heavier, and never had it felt warmer. Flinn welcomed the warmth, for he was suddenly cold, so cold.

Flinn lifted his glazed, bloodied eyes to the forest and then slowly, slowly began to walk in the direction the dragon had gone. “He is mortally wounded,” Flinn said dazedly. He coughed twice, his collapsed lung rattling, “but I must be sure he will die.”

He stepped heavily forward, jags of pain racing like lightning through his torso. Broken ribs stabbed into his failing lungs, and his heart beat frantically. A rushing noise grew in his ears. He walked twenty, thirty steps through the snow, leaving a crimson trail behind him.

He fell.

Flinn lay for a moment, fighting back the dizzy blackness that edged his vision. He closed his eyes. The image of Jo rose to his mind, and with it the image of Verdilith. Flinn gripped Wyrmblight in his hands, then opened his eyes and began dragging his beaten body through the brush, still following the trail left by Verdilith. Willpower had failed him. Now heart alone kept him moving.

“Karleah…” he gasped through broken teeth, “…damn your prophecy.”

Braddoc Briarblood, Karleah Kunzay, and Dayin Kine halted their mounts and began discussing the tracks before them.

Johauna Menhir heard none of the conversation. The words were drowned out by the litany that had filled her mind since morning: Flinn—where are you? Why didn’t I awake when you left? Why? I could have stopped you, or I could have gone with you! The words had echoed in her mind during the entire four-hour ride. Her three companions pointed toward a dark wood before them and turned their mounts to enter it. Jo followed mechanically.

The trail ahead of them stopped, and Jo and the others saw where Flinn must have dismounted—probably to don his armor. We must be close to the dragon, Jo thought, and close to Flinn. She only prayed that they had arrived in time to help him, but something in her heavy heart told her otherwise. Shaking the doubts from her mind, she drew her sword, jumped off Carsig, and raced into the woods. The dwarf, wizardess, and boy followed more slowly.

Giant pines and a few scattered spruces crowded the forest. The silence was palpable, and it frightened Jo. Woodlore stated that such absolute silence meant only one thing: a fight to the death had taken place. Only her fearful breaths disturbed the awful hush as she plunged forward.

Moments later, Jo broke through a line of trees and entered a small glade, a tiny meadow hidden in the woods. The snow-covered ground was trampled and stained. Blood and upturned earth marred the former whiteness. Shining bits of metal gleamed, half-buried in the snow. A tattered piece of midnight-blue cloth waved in the wind, snagged on a broken staff.

Jo halted. The huddled corpse of a griffon lay in the center of the glade. Ariac was sprawled on his back, his eagle’s head nearly severed from his body.

“Oh, Ariac,” Jo whispered, running toward the fallen beast. Her eyes were wide with grief and pain. She heard the others come up behind her, but she couldn’t bear that they see her grief—not yet. She fled forward, seeking Flinn, praying. Praying.

Jo ran for twenty, thirty, forty more paces, across the glade and into the forest again. She felt bile rise in her throat when she saw the bloody path Flinn had left behind. It was fully three feet wide—and crimson. Jo prayed some of the blood was the dragon’s. Twigs and chunks of soil had been churned up on the ground ahead, mixing foully with the snow and blood.

Finally, in a glade even smaller than the last, Jo found him. She stumbled toward the still form of Flinn lying on his side, one arm outstretched, his hand poised to claw at the trampled snow. As each step drew her closer, Jo’s legs grew leaden. She dropped her sword and one hand cradled her stomach, but somehow she stumbled forward. Reaching his body, Johauna Menhir fell to her knees in the snow by Flinn’s side. Wyrmblight lay next to him, the silver of its bright blade shining in the sun. She pushed the cold hilt into the outstretched hand, but there was no response. She clasped her own hand around his.

His face was turned away from her, and she saw only his iron-streaked black hair and blood. His chest and back plate were gone, and the gray woolen tunic he wore underneath was now red. Blood still ran from large puncture wounds that marked both his back and his chest. Jo choked on a sob, then gently rolled the knight onto his back so that she could see him.

“Flinn—” his name escaped her throat. She touched the bloodied, battered face of the man she loved and bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from crying. Through tears that she refused to let fall, she gently pushed aside his tangled locks and wiped the blood from his eyes and mouth. Jo leaned over and kissed him, unaware that Braddoc, Karleah, and Dayin stood silently behind her.

“Flinn—” Jo pleaded in a voice as hoarse as before. She was beyond the ability to pray coherently to her Immortals, but she silently beseeched them for Flinn’s life.

His eyelids fluttered open. They closed once, then opened again, and Jo saw that they were filled with inexpressible pain. He blinked a second time, then a third, and she cradled his head to her breast. The tears she had tried not to shed were running silently down her cheeks, landing on Flinn’s chest and mingling with his blood.

“Jo,” Flinn’s voice wasn’t even a whisper, “I love you…”

Blood trickled from Flinn’s lips. His eyes glazed over completely and rolled upward. The faintest tremor went through his body, and then his neck stiffened.

Fain Flinn was dead.

Jo threw back her head, her hands clutching the body in her arms, a cry in her throat. But the cry wouldn’t emerge, and she doubled over in mute pain.

For four days and four nights Johauna Menhir stood alone before the funeral pyre of Flinn the Mighty. She had requested that her companions stay away during her time of grief, and they respected her wishes. For four days and nights Jo guarded Flinn’s body from the ravages of wolves, but no other creatures came to the glade that witnessed the warrior’s death. And for four days and nights, Johauna prayed hopelessly that Flinn would rise from his pallet.

He did not.

On the fourth day, three riders joined Jo: Braddoc, Karleah, and Dayin. They handed Jo a torch and moved to different sides of the pyre, each carrying his or her own torch. Jo stood at the front, unwilling to send Flinn’s spirit to rest but knowing she must. Her eyes were dark from sorrow and sleeplessness, and she nodded to Dayin to begin.

The boy intoned, “For Flinn the Mighty, there was the first point of the Quadrivial: Honor.” He threw his torch at the pile of wood before him. Dayin sat down in the snow, dazed. Ariac’s body rested within the pyre, for Jo had decreed that so faithful a mount should join his master in whatever Life awaited them after death.

Jo nodded to Karleah, who said in a voice more subdued than any had ever heard from her, “For Flinn the Mighty, there was the second point of the Quadrivial: Courage. None had greater than he.” The wizardess added her torch to the pile, and the flames began to lap at the dry wood.

Braddoc looked Jo’s way, and at her assent he began to speak. His voice was gruff, and tears ran unashamedly down his face, wetting his beard. “For Flinn the Mighty, there was the third point of the Quadrivial: Faith, for the people in all Penhaligon believed in him.” Braddoc’s voice broke on the last words. He tossed his torch onto the pile and turned away. Sobs shook the dwarf’s broad shoulders, and he buried his face in his hands.

Jo tried to see through the mist of tears in her eyes, but could not. The flames flickered before her, demanding her attention. Then a sudden gust of wind picked up a corner of Flinn’s tunic, and she focused on the midnight blue. Holding up her torch, she called out in a voice that rang with a strength laced with sorrow, “For Flinn the Mighty, there was the fourth and final point of the Quadrivial: Glory.”

She stopped, unable to speak. She swallowed once, twice, and continued, her voice raw with restraint. “Glory,” she repeated and gripped Wyrmblight so tightly her hands bled. “And the people in all lands, not just Penhaligon, will know of the Mighty Flinn, and the glory in which he died, and the glory in which he lived.” The words sank to a whisper, and then Jo threw the last torch onto Flinn’s funeral pyre.

The patch of midnight blue disappeared in the flames of death.